Reminiscence: The 51st Hunger Games
by Sgarnett99
Summary: 'This year, our angle was to make tributes remember their pasts. Tributes will be transported back to wartime; they will become soldiers.' This is the 51st Hunger Games. Closed.
1. Careful Pt 1

**Welcome to Reminiscence! I've recently gotten very into writing SYOTs and I had some ideas for an Arena so I thought it would be fun to start this. It'll be a weekly updated project, starting after I get enough tributes. I hope you decide to submit, please remember to do so by PM because if not then the story is considered illegal and I will have to delete it. I'm hoping to update every Friday.  
**

**Each chapter will be based off a song lyric/quote. I think a lot of people have done this by now, so kudos to whoever came up with that idea and thank you for letting me use it. (Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, you know.) As for pre-Games chapters, I'll have all 12 Reapings in one chapter and have around 4 Capitol chapters. This format gets us to the Arena much quicker. The style was originally used by JabberjayHeart who is a wonderful author and kindly lets everyone copy his SYOT formats.**

**Tribute form will be at the end of the chapter and on my profile! Happy submitting! :D**

* * *

Careful; Paramore

_You can't be too careful anymore_

* * *

Last year. Last year was the fiftieth annual Hunger Games, and I have to say that they were a smashing hit. Forty-eight tributes instead of the usual twenty-four and a wonderful Arena. There was a victor as an underdog; not the most easygoing victor, not someone who was easy to get along with, but an underdog all the same. The first winner District Twelve had had in many years. I don't like Haymitch Abernathy but I can't deny that his victory will make the fiftieth Hunger Games hard to beat.

The new Head Gamemaker sits down at my desk, looking about a quarter as nervous as he should be. "Last year's Games were a huge hit, Taurus," I say skeptically. "How are you going to compete with that? There's pressure on you this year."

The Head Gamemaker Taurus Dawson grins at me. "Simple," he replies. "I do something creative."

I roll my eyes and purse my lips. "The Games have to be creative every year, stupid. Explain to me this great Arena that will make everyone remember the fifty-_first _Hunger Games, not the fiftieth. You do want your first year as Head Gamemaker to be a success, don't you? I can have you killed if you displease me. That's what happened in the forty-"

"Please don't talk about the forty-sixth Hunger Games," Taurus winces. Those were a terrible year. The Games were held in an aquarium and all the tributes that ran out of oxygen drowned. A boy from Four won that year. Needless to say, the Head Gamemaker didn't live until sunrise after the victor was crowned.

"I'm simply reminding you," I say, "That if these Games go wrong, especially after having such an exciting Quarter Quell, you will be punished."

"I know, _your majesty," _he replies mockingly. "But you'll be grateful you picked me for the job. You'll be thanking me, I can assure you that."

"Do not cross me, Mr. Dawson," I warn. "I'm not one to be crossed."

Taurus rolls his eyes and pulls out two blueprints. He rolls out one blueprint and turns it to face me.

"This year," he explains, "Our angle was to make the district remember their pasts. Before Panem, in the time of North America, there were two particularly prominent wars labelled 'World Wars'."

I nod, to show I'm following.

"They were obviously very political, but essentially a series of battles fought in muddy fields filled with trenches. Tributes will be transported back to 'World War I'. We will give them weaponry from the time, along with our classical weaponry. The tributes will become the soldiers."

I look at the Gamemaker skeptically. "Why don't we just make them reminisce, say, the rebellion? It only happened fifty years ago. It would be much more effective in get the point across to our older viewers." I love 'the point'. There's always some psychological twist in each Games that makes people realise how helpless they are and how powerful we are. I get it, Taurus wants people to remember wars. It's a wonderful way to prove how powerful we are; we beat them in the rebellion. It's a way to remind them that the entire world is survival of the fittest. But nobody remembers this 'World War I' thing. It happened hundreds, probably thousands, of years ago. I don't know how Taurus even found out about it.

"I see what you're getting at, but you're wrong, Miss," Taurus says bluntly. "This proves that humans have always had wars, that we'll always be the same violent race. It reminds the tributes that when war is declared- be it World War I or the rebellion- chaos will be wreaked and only the strongest will emerge on top. It's perfect, actually."

"How do you even know that this is a real historical event?" I ask. "What proof do you have?"

Taurus happily whips out several yellowed papers. There appear to be many photos, drawings, news clippings and posters. "This," he says, showing a new clipping that informs the country_ '_War has been declared'. "You gotta hand it to the archaeologists."There is a poster of a woman, appearing to be deep in thought, thinking, '_Gee!_ _I wish I were a man. I'd join the navy.' _And, I nod, impressed, as I shuffle through different clippings.

"You seem to have done your research," I admit, looking at the new Head Gamemaker. I can see a future for him; and a very successful one at that. He just has to make sure to treat his president with respect. And not to try anything foolish.

"Well, I wasn't planning on making this a year to forget. You've underestimated me, president; that's where you go wrong. You underestimate everyone."

"You have no idea who I am and what I do," I inform the rash man in front of me. "If you are to keep your life you'll learn to hold your tongue."

He rolls up his blueprints, glaring at me. "Yes, president," He says mock-courteously. "As you wish."

"I like your Arena. I like your ideas. But be careful," I warn. "You've nearly crossed the line already. Life is a balancing act, Taurus, as someone of your young age has probably not learned yet. But I'm telling you now. Because I don't want to have to kill you. Impress me this year, Taurus Dawson, and I'll consider keeping you as Head Gamemaker. Impress me and all will go well for you."

He looks more worried now. I grin, satisfied; finally I have put this man in his place. The Gamemaker rolls up his blueprints and gets up to leave. "This time next week, you can show me more of your layout for the Arena," I say. "Let's hope you've learned some manners by then."

I sit back. Scary though I seem to that man, I'm impressed with his idea.

This _will _be a year to remember.

* * *

**Yeah, my epilogues are always short. Other chapters will be longer (look at No Place Like Home to see what I mean). I don't want to make this a difficult task, but I have a few guidelines I'd love for you to consider while submitting. **

**The story is not first-come first-serve; I will have a list on my profile and when I receive tributes I like I'll put them in. **

**Character deaths will be based on both realism and whether or not the author is reviewing the story. I'm not begging for reviews; but it makes more sense to keep a tribute of an author that is reviewing than an author that isn't. **

_1-SUBMIT BY PM OR I WILL KILL YOU AND NOT GIVE YOU ANY VIRTUAL COOKIES EVER._

2-Please, no John Smiths. Suzanne Collins made a point that names often reflect the district's industry, so I'd love for you to do so. You don't have to go out of your way to find an insane name, but something a little more inventive than 'Bob' would be nice. 

3-Nobody is perfect. Nobody. 

4-Since by year 51, we are well into the Games, all Career district tributes should be volunteers. There shouldn't be any outlying district volunteers unless you have a valid reason (NOT volunteering for a younger sibling). 

5-Finding images is a mandatory part of this; all you have to do is find a celebrity lookalike and I'll select a photo.

6-The more detailed the form is, the more likely I will be to use it.

I think that's all; I don't want to sound harsh! Have fun with this! Try to enjoy my writing! And please submit!

**Tribute form for Reminiscence**

**Name: **

**Age: **

**Gender: **

**District: **

**Appearance: **

**Celebrity lookalike (for blog): (Since fanfiction generally blocks links through PM, using lookalikes is easier. You can try to use a link if you can't find anyone though.)**

**Personality: **

**History (remember, not every single tribute will have a crazy sob story or extremely rare disability. Most tributes will be normal people): **

**Family/Friends (explain relationship with parents/ siblings): **

**Reaped/Volunteered: **

**Reaction to being reaped/reason for volunteering:**

**Strengths (not all physical): **

**Weaknesses (not all physical): **

**Reaping Outfit: **

**Chariot Outfit: **

**Interview Outfit: **

**Training Strategy: **

**Interview Strategy: **

**Arena Strategy:**

**Would they be likely to have a romance (very few tributes will have one in the end): **

**Would they be likely to have an alliance:**

**Weapon of Choice: **

**Token (optional): **


	2. Careful Pt 2

**So, another update, this was supposed to be yesterday, but at least it's up now. Another very short prologue chapter, but things will get a lot longer as we go into Reapings and Capitol. But I'll leave A/N's for the end. of the chapter ;)**

**ALSO, DON'T HESITATE TO SUBMIT A D12 TRIBUTE BECAUSE IN THIS STORY HAYMITCH IS THE ONLY D12 VICTOR, MEANING A D12 COULD VERY WELL WIN AS WELL.**

* * *

Careful; Paramore 

_You can't be too careful anymore_

* * *

My eyes snap open and on cue, soft music plays through speakers embedded in the wall. Lights flick on, dimmed so as not to hurt my eyes, and my opaque glass windows switch to translucent. Minimal amounts of light stream in.

My lips curve into a smile. I'm in a fabulous mood today. I'm officially a Dawson, I have an angelic son of three years, and my husband is showing his current arena design to our president Mariella Snow. I've picked out my best clothing to wear to lunch with my sister, just for the occasion, and then, _then, _I get to pick up Taurus from him and Mariella's meeting. Though harsh, Mariella's a kind woman and I've always been a friend of hers. Taurus is sure to make a wonderful impression.

I step out of the bed onto a softly heated wood floor and make my way into my bathroom. Showering is my favourite part of the day now that I've had these wonderful crystal walls installed, as well as hair treatment auto-scrubbers and an automatic make-up station. New artwork adorns the freshly painted mint green walls; yes, this upgrade was in honor of Taurus's promotion. It couldn't make me feel better.

I step into the shower and steamy water gushes from above me. Different types of oils and soaps and shampoos are mixed into my hair with auto scrubbers. Warm water rinses it away, and when I step out of the shower and onto a mat that sends a gust of warm air over my body, I can't help thinking, _I'm so glad I don't live in the Districts. _

I select my finest floral dress and choose makeup to match. The makeup machine whirrs and clunks, doing my hair and applying concealers and eye-shadows until I am perfect.

Down the marble stairs, my little son sits at the breakfast table, being spoon-fed by some Avox. Upon seeing me, the Avox puts the spoon down and hands me a note.

_Dearest Luxe,  
I'm afraid I have to cancel on you today. Due to unfortunate circumstances-_

I skip to the bottom, seeing my sister's signature.

Tearing the note, I stare at the said Avox.

"What do you mean she cancelled?"

The poor girl shrugs. My son looks at me, confused at my anger.

"Say something!"

She points to her tongue-or lack thereof- and I stifle a laugh.

"Right. I'll be off. Have the house cleaned for when we're back, will you?" I ask. This is pointless, as the house is already pristine, but I grab my little Aurum and tie the laces on his shoes before putting on mine.

The Avox nods.

"We'll be back later. Don't eat the food; I'm making a meal for guests tomorrow and I _don't _want to go shopping again."

Another nod. I leave, closing the mahogany door gently so as not to inflict any damage on it. And then I'm off.

So what if I can't see my sister. I'll just sit in on Taurus and Mariella's meeting. It will be nice. I feel such pride at my husband being promoted to head Gamemaker; he's sure to do wonderfully.

"Where are we going, mummy?" Aurum asks as I pull him along. The meeting is at Taurus's office, not too far from here.

"To see daddy," I inform my son, pulling him along.

He continues to ask questions. Does daddy like his job? What is it? Where is he? What's a president?

"Honey, we're here," I say, finally done with his constant pestering and wishing I had taken the car.

I cautiously open the frosted glass door into the silent room. There's a hallway, and a woman with a clipboard and a snow-white smile. "What may I do for you?" She asks brightly.

"I'm here for the meeting between President Snow and Taurus Dawson," I say haughtily, scooping up Aurum in one arm.

The woman's perky smile fades. "And you are not the president Miss Mariella Snow," she says, eyebrow raised. "And certainly not Taurus Dawson."

"He's my husband," I reply, hoisting Aurum up on my arm and staring the lady down.

She glances at my son. "You're planning on sitting in on the meeting, are you?"

"Do you have an issue?"

The woman rolls her eyes. "Oh, I suppose not. Snow's son is sitting in as well. Follow me, miss."

Satisfied, I follow her down the hall with nothing but the clack of my heels in the hall. She shouldn't have even tried me, honestly. What was she going to do? Kick me out of the place?

"In here, ma'am."

I enter Taurus's office in the middle of Mariella's sentence.

"- Well, I do admit this is a rather good idea. But-"

"Madame President, Dawson's wife is here," the lady with the clipboard says, letting me in.

"Oh." Mariella's lips stretch into a tight smile. "Dearest Luxe. Do sit down. My son Crito is here with me today as well. I imagine you'd like to observe the meeting?"

I sense something foreboding under her tone, but I just nod and sit down.

"Speaking of, mother," the boy mumbles. "May I leave? Cousin Coriolanus and I were planning to meet-"

"No you may not," Mariella says harshly. "This is practice for when you become president yourself."

He sighs and I look at Taurus. Worry is etched onto his face as much as he tries to hide it, and I don't like it. He's usually never like this; my husband is a carefree man.

"Now, Taurus." The president gives a cruel smile. "Where were we? Oh, that's right. I was telling you that I like your Arena. _Not _your attitude."

I glance over. _What? _

"Miss, you're really not being logical. I'm only explaining to you where you go wrong. Don't doubt my creations, my designs, and I'll treat you with respect," He says. Aurum's big blue eyes watch intently. "But you're being stupid about-"

"_You're _being stupid, Dawson!" Mariella spits, standing up. I recoil, shocked. Taurus has done something wrong. "Do you understand that all you have done is insult me? Is be rash and stubborn and, all around, a _very _stupid person?"

"I understand that you're deluded about-" He begins, but is cut off.

"If anyone here is deluded, it's you. I thought appointing you was a good decision, Taurus Dawson. You've good ideas. But will you make me regret it?" Her gaze turns to mine. "Will I have to make an example?" She asks.

I lean back further in my chair. My childhood friend Mariella has become twisted with power. But she wouldn't kill me because Taurus angered her, would she?

Worse still, her eyes shift to little Aurum.

"Or… make an example of what happens to the children of Gamemakers who don't follow the rules?"

I hold my son close to me.

"Hello, Aurum," Mariella waves. The boy waves back and I slap his hand away.

"Ow, mummy!" Aurum complains. I shush him.

The president and I have a staring contest, from which I eventually back down. Crito snickers and I say, "Taurus, I'm leaving."

"You only just arrived!" He exclaims. Contrary to the fear in his eyes earlier, he appears oblivious to the drama unfolding in front of his own two eyes.

"It doesn't matter," I snap, pushing the chair back and standing up. It makes an awful screeching noise against the floor.

Walking out the door, I feel sick to my stomach, thinking of Mariella's death threats. Not only to me but to my _son. _

Does Taurus have any idea what he's gotten himself into?

* * *

**So, 1 reaping with 12 POVs, then 4 Capitol chapters with 12 POVs each, each tribute will get 2 POVs. **

**Character deaths will be based off of both realism and whether or not the author reviews. **

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter! A quickie, but it'll improve after this!**


	3. Paradise

Paradise; Coldplay  


_When she was just a girl, she expected the world - but it flew away from her reach, and she ran away in her sleep_

* * *

**Alliah Faith, District One Mentor  
**_**37**__**th**_

* * *

My Hunger Games were the most spectacular by far. I'm not saying this out of arrogance. It's the plain truth; I'm a person of honesty. When three of us were standing in that frozen wasteland, campfires sending dramatic smoke into the air, and I tossed two throwing stars through the air at the same time, I knew that cheers echoed all through Panem. I haven't had a moment of regret since volunteering. It was the path for me.

But it's _not _the path for everyone.

I smooth down my white dress and pat my hair, (Damn wind,) glancing at my fellow mentor. Sapphire Tassel is moody, sullen and hostile. I remember the year before she volunteered. She was so _bubbly! _So bright and happy. She came back broken. Sapphire isn't a happy person now.

At present, she's scowling at the crowd of eager teenagers while our escort, Augustus Fortuna, gushes about how _honoured _he is to be here today. But 'since we're all so very excited', he walks straight to the female bowl, saying "Let's go with tradition and call the ladies first!" He digs his bony fingers around, getting the crowed more and more riled up as he hesitates to pull a name.

"Our female, winning the honour of representing District One in the fifty-first annual Hunger Games is…Tiara Feller! But I expect we-"

"I volunteer!" A voice rings out through the crowd, strong and clear.

"Lovely!" Augustus exclaims.

A classically beautiful girl with blonde hair, curled shoulder-length, strides forward. I can tell from a single look that she's strong. This girl has probably lived an upper-class life and trained for years. Probably since age nine or ten. The unwavering confidence in her voice suggests that she wasn't pressured into volunteering, but decided to do so long beforehand. I can tell already that this girl is a killer.

"What's your name, honey?" Augustus asks brightly. I can see the contempt in this girl's voice at being called 'honey'.

She hesitates before saying, "Blanche Allard."

I can hear murmurs in the crowd, even a mocking laugh or two, as the name is announced. "Ooh," Augustus grins, licking his lips. "Sister of the infamous Adele Allard? The one who volunteered a few years back? Oh, I bet you're redeeming your family's name! Ex-_citing!" _

I remember Dale mentoring Adele Allard a few years back. No doubt, like Augustus suggested, this Blanche girl wants to try and bring prestige back to her family name. Only in District One.

"Yes…" She says carefully, "But I suppose someone like yourself wouldn't be too familiar with the concept of redemption, would you?"

Although Blanche says this coolly, the way one friend would say hello to another, she elicits some laughing from the crowd. The Capitolites' naïve nature has always been something of a joke in the districts.

"Right…er, now onto our male!" Augustus sticks his hand into the boy's bowl and reads, "Hale Jest!"

No sooner has Hale Jest made it to the stage when a boy steps out from the back and strides forward with a confidence to match Blanche's. "I volunteer," he announces loudly, taking the stairs up to the stage two at a time.

"Positively magnificent! Your name?"

"Killian Loran," he says loudly, glancing over at Blanche. I wouldn't be surprised if the two knew each other, considering the fact that they're the same age and Blanche's family is somewhat infamous.

"Perfect! Well, Killian, Blanche, shake hands!" Augustus exclaims. The tributes look each other directly in the eye and give a firm shake before being escorted into the Justice Building.

"Well, they're carbon copies of each other," I mutter, "So I guess it doesn't matter who mentors who."

* * *

**Slate Shade, District Two Mentor  
**_**45**__**th**_

* * *

Isis looks at me questioningly. "Do we have enough volunteers ready this year? Last time was a bit of a letdown."

Rubbing my temples, I reply tiredly, "I don't know, Isis. You _know _I'm not even properly sober yet."

"You have to smarten up, Slate!" She hisses, looking out at the sea of excited possible volunteers. "You're mentoring these kids. Last year, the Career pack got _wiped _out and a District Twelve tribute won. It's bad for the public, and if we've got drunks as mentors, our tributes are never going to get anywhere!"

"Come off it, Isis," I say, willing the pounding headache to go away. "You know the Reaping is always the worst for me."

"Really? Because I'd have thought it would be when you're watching kids kill each other. It's going to get worse but no one wants a drunk mentor."

"Fine," I say. "Isis, I'll be sober for everything else. But don't tell me you don't still get upset about your Games."

"They were a long time ago. I've moved on."

Our escort takes the stage. "C'mon, we'd better watch this," I mutter. "Pick our tributes and that lovely stuff."

"Well, greetings, District Two!" Triss's beam radiates around the square. "I bet you're _very _excited to see who your tributes will be this year!"

Claps and cheers echo around the place and I can tell Triss is ecstatic to finally have a 'good' district; she's new, after all. I guess she's enthusiastic enough to put on a good show for Capitol viewers.

"I know, I know, you can't wait, so I think I'll get straight to it!" (Well, that must be a relief to the District after listening to the mayor's speech.) "Yes…" She dips her hand in the girl's bowl. "Our female tribute is Vera-"

"I volunteer!" I strong voice cuts through the crowd and you can see the disturbance in it, everyone shifting around to see who the lucky girl is.

"Oh, but I should have known," Isis murmurs. "It's the Southern Flame Dragon's year to volunteer. That'll be Mina Silver."

"Southern what, excuse me?" I ask.

"You know, the four elite trainees who get a spot as 'dragons' at the academy. Earth Dragon, Air Dragon, Sea Dragon, Flame Dragon. It circulates, every five years a dragon is supposed to volunteer. And this was the Southern Flame's turn. So that's Mina Silver out there, mark my words."

An athletic-looking girl with brown hair, wearing a black dress that has an intricate red dragon design strides forward confidently. There are grumbles from the crowd but everyone clearly knows not to try and take her place.

"And what's your name, dear?" Triss asks.

"Mina Silver," she replies, and I can see a small dragon tattoo on her shoulder from where I sit.

"Well, a round of applause for her, and then for our boy tribute!" There's half-hearted clapping and Triss makes her way to the boy bowl. "Our male…Julius Drest! Come on u-"

A boy, small for his age with blonde hair, steps out of the crowd. "I volunteer," he says in a monotone voice, walking forward briskly.

"Oh, how wonderful," Triss says as he mounts the steps to the stage. He looks emotionless, meek even, but I can read tributes because I was one. And there's something else in his eyes; something that's not just bloodlust. I want to know what that is.

"I'll take the boy."

* * *

**Eleanor Nova, District Three Mentor  
**_**29**__**th**_

* * *

I think the mentoring would be easier if I had someone to bear it with. But no; there's just me, all alone, watching teenagers die year after year and each time it hurts because I know that I didn't save them. Sometimes, grief-stricken parents come screaming to me, asking why I didn't save their child. And I can never do anything except raise my hands in defense.

"Thank you for listening. Now I shall hand you over to our lovely escort May Fairway, who will be selecting our male and female tributes for this year's Hunger Games."

May Fairway introduces herself but no one's listening, not really. She talks about what an honour it is to be here, but we know she wants to be a Career escort.

The grey day is making everything worse. Sun struggles - unsuccessfully – to break through the clouds and small droplets of rain hit the pavement.

"Now… we will select our ladies first." May smiles with her tight lips. She digs her hand around the bowl and you could hear a pin drop in the district. "Our female tribute…with the honour of representing District Three this year… is Aspen Parsque."

Instead of resignedly walking up to the stage like tributes typically do, a girl at the back makes a run for it. She gets a good hundred feet, too. I find myself praying that this girl escapes. Anyone who can escape from the Hunger Games should.

But Peacekeepers get Aspen and when she's dragged up to the stage, I see the wedding veil she wears over her face and my stomach sinks.

Aspen is The Widow.

A year ago, a boy named Burnett was reaped. He was well-known throughout the district, for marrying at barely seventeen years old. So naturally, when his name was called, his wife, Aspen Parsque, fought to let him escape. He almost made it out of the square, just like her a few minutes ago, but two crazed teenagers were no match for grown men with guns. Burnett was killed by the Capitol as the clock was ticking down at the Cornucopia. I bet anything Aspen's reaping was rigged so that she could be punished for questioning the Capitol's system.

But anyway, Aspen Parsque still wears her wedding veil. She's seen talking to herself around the district. Whenever anyone asks Aspen if she is indeed The Widow, she says simply, "Yes. And I'm insane now," before wandering away.

Aspen isn't even kept onstage. Law enforcers escort her into the Justice Building and there is a very final-sounding slam as she's locked into the visiting room.

"Well! Wasn't that interesting…" May Fairway gives an awkward chuckle. The whole district is in a stunned silence. "But now, for our boy!"

After doing a good deal of digging her hand around in the class bowl, May Fairway selects a name. "Zeke Kylar!"

Pity courses through me when I see that the boy is 13. I won at fifteen, the youngest conceivably possible age for a victor. Even though he tries to be brave, I can see the fear in Zeke's eyes.

_Be brave, _I wish I could say loudly right now. _Just try and be brave, it'll all be over soon._

* * *

**Dominick Crest, District Four Mentor  
**_**20**__**th**_

* * *

Even though it was thirty-one years ago now that I won, I can't seem to get over it. The gore and bloodlust and fear demonstrated by so many tributes makes pain course through me every day. And the thought that others volunteer for that fate just as I did when I was in a dark hole and thought only the fame and wealth of being a victor could bring me out of my depressed state.

It didn't make it any better; the condition worsened, in all honesty. And that's why I couldn't care less if we have enough volunteers ready this year or not.

"I told you Aoife," I mutter. "I don't care. I don't care, I don't care."

"You _have _to care!" She snaps. "District Four lost all four tributes last year and we don't know if we'll have any volunteers at _all. _You do realise we're a subject of ridicule in Two and One, right? They call us fake careers. Wannabes. We can't have that."

"I honestly, _cannot _find it in me to give a crap," I admit, looking at the woman beside me who won the Hunger Games not so long ago.

"Well, you should," she snaps and turns back around as the Treaty of Treason speech ends and our escort takes the stage.

"We have a big few weeks ahead of us and I _know _how excited you all are, so I'll get right to it!" The lady exclaims, dipping a name into the girl's Reaping bowl. I watch waves crash against the shore, not so far in the distance, as the next doomed teenager goes to their fate.

"Our female tribute is Ivory Dagger! Come on up, Ivory!"

The girl who walks up to the stage looks elegant, dignified, and underneath that, shocked, scanning the faces of the crowd. It's stunning: the people are cheering. _Cheering _that this girl has just been reaped. And no one volunteers to take her place.

Ivory gazes around, the slightest of smiles on her face. She looks dreamy, ditzy even. She doesn't look like victor material. People still clap and laugh with disgust as the girl stands on the stage.

"Bloody hell," Aoife mutters. "Ivory's hated. She doesn't train, doesn't like the Games, doesn't have any friends except a _cat _that follows her around a lot…"

"You mean to say," I ask, "That this Ivory is so hated no one is volunteering for her?"

"That's exactly what I mean."

"That's horrid."

"Nearly everything is horrid, but you've got to get over yourself."

The escort then pulls a boy's name, disappointment clear in her step. She'll probably be all upset about how there isn't a volunteer from Four, and now that she's finally been promoted to a decent district there isn't even a female volunteer.

"Our male… will be Cascade Profond!"

Aoife curses loudly. "I don't know if we'll get a volunteer for him either." I usually sit back and let her stress over moments like these, but I can tell she's genuinely upset.

Cascade looks determined as he mounts the stage. From behind him, someone runs up and tries to take his place, but the boy simply pushes him out of the way and says, "No. No volunteers, please." His face is set and determined and there is already a small spot in my heart for him. The boy who, I can tell, wants to win.

"District Four, your tributes! Cascade Profond and Ivory Dagger!"

* * *

**Geoff Caze, District Five Mentor  
**_**49**__**th**_

* * *

"So it begins," I snicker as our escort, Hermes, takes the stage. "Let's see whose turn it is to die."

"Don't," Rell mutters from behind me. "Don't say things like that."

"Why? You're alive," I counter.

"I killed people. They're not alive and it's because of me," he answers simply and turns away. I roll my eyes. Cracking jokes all the time is one way to cope with the pain of being a seventeen year-old victor. But Rell takes the other route, acting melodramatic and sad and refusing to take advantages of the luxuries his Victor's Village house provides him with.

"District Five! You really do look lovely today," Hermes comments. I snort. District Five is the factory district. Power. We've never looked worse with our sunken eyes and intelligent glares and malnourished bodies. You can see the defeated fear of every person in the square.

"But enough small talk, I'll get on with it! We'll draw our ladies first," Hermes announces brightly. He digs his hand around the bowl and the district draws a collective breath.

"Our female tribute representing District Five in the fifty-first Annual Hunger Games is Asha Marlow!"

Rell and I crane our heads to see who this girl is. I can't tell what section the girl is from but eventually, back in the seventeens section, someone steps out of the crowd. I want to gasp when I see the girl step out of the crowd but I manage not to say anything; her hair is flaming red against her startlingly pale skin, her eyes bright blue and face is that malnourished kind of skinny. Tears are present in Asha's eyes but I can see her struggling to keep them back. She's really, really pretty.

I slap a hand down on my knee. "Mine," I reply.

"You haven't even seen the other tribute," Rell replies, irritated.

"I don't care," I say. "I'm mentoring Asha Marlow this year, end of story."

"Fine," Rell rolls his eyes in response. "As long as you don't try to _rape _her or something."

"When you say that, you make it sound like you wouldn't put it past me," I comment, feeling slightly offended.

"And, are there any volunteers for the lovely Asha? No? Going… going… gone!" Hermes says, and dips his hand into the boys' bowl. "Our male will be…" There's a pause for suspense. "Oroban Jones!"

A boy steps hesitantly out of the twelves section and makes his way up. Knowing most tributes, he's probably trying not to throw up his breakfast, probably trying to stay strong for his family. He's bald with a sickly skinny build and stands at just under 5 feet.

"Well," Rell mutters as no one volunteers for Oroban, "We may as well get the coffins ready."

I glare at him but don't say anything. Because he's right.

* * *

**Lars Merris, District Six Mentor  
**_**11**__**th**_

* * *

"I really don't wanna do this," Nick whispers as our escort rambles on about how exciting it is to be here in District Six. I look at him with pity. Victors like me have long since learned to cope with the pain of a victor. He won at only thirteen with older allies who loved him like a little brother and were willing to give themselves up for him. He hasn't had to mentor yet but now he's older, and the Capitol told me- the district's first victor- that it's time to make him mentor. I don't pretend to understand their ways.

"It gets better, kid," I say. "Don't worry."

But the truth is, it doesn't get better. And I shouldn't be lying to him. But I don't think I'd be able to take it if the kid looked any sadder than he did right now.

"And now, since I don't want to keep you waiting, I shall be drawing the girl's name, as per our usual tradition!" The escort continues. "Our female tribute with the honor of representing District Six in the 51st annual Hunger Games is Saenna Torry!"

Saenna Torry. As hard as I try, the name doesn't ring a bell.

The girl, stepping out from the fifteens section, looks only surprised. But some tributes are better at masking their emotions than others. Her long black hair is back in a braid. No one volunteers for her, as expected.

"And, now…our male… Maxwell Jones!"

It's going to be hard to watch them die.

If they do, that is. But they do more often than not.

* * *

**Elsie Hugh, District Seven Mentor  
**_**48**__**th**_

* * *

"Don't come to the Capitol with me. Please, _please _don't?" I beg, looking up at Fir.

"_Why _not?" He asks.

Fir has saved me. He really, really has. When I was in a deep hole after winning the Games, there he was. Fir was, this bright, shiny light that saw past my scars, the internal and the external ones. He was there, he was my path. He's all I've got. I don't want Fir to come to the Capitol when I mentor. I'm scared of what could happen. It's the Capitol. _Anything _could happen. After being in the Hunger Games I've learned that.

"I'm scared of them," I say, my voice laced with desperation. "You can't come, you can't."

"Why would they do anything to me? You know it's gonna be hard for you to be alone, mentoring in the Capitol. I thought it'd be good if I came. You'd have someone to talk to from Seven, someone who wasn't a Capitolite betting on your death a few years back." The last words are rather harsh. I frown.

"I-"

"Els, you've got to go out now for the reaping. You'll be fine, OK?" He plants a fleeting kiss on my lips and pushes me towards the door, where I am to face grim crowds, kids waiting on their death warrant.

I hate everything. Why can't I be like Fir, so pure and innocent? I'm jealous of him, so jealous. It keeps me up at night sometimes. When I think of what he has and I don't, sometimes I'm driven to the point of insanity. But I can't let that show when I'm in front of potential tributes. I have to look strong.

"Welcome back, District Seven!" Hollers Autumn Gallaway, our escort. "I am _so _pleasured to be back in this lovely tree district and I feel _so _lucky pick the tributes with the… honour of representing District Seven in our fifty-first Hunger Games!"

So she easily buys into propaganda. Simple-minded, loud, silly. Easy to kill? Probably.

I shake my head vigorously. I'm thinking like a tribute again. I'm not a tribute anymore.

"Let's switch it up a bit this year, shall we? Males first!" Autumn dips her hand into the bowl before drawing a name: "…Kronik Elliot! Come right on up!"

A boy with hardened features, close to the back of the crowd, steps forth. Grim determination is etched onto his face. Up on the stage, Autumn says, "Well, Kronik! Anything to say to your district? Are you proud to be representing them?"

"I'm… determined," he mumbles.

"How lovely! Well, dear, if you don't mind, we'll continue onto the girls now…"

I hold my breath. A few years ago, this was my name being drawn from the bowl.

"…Amber Grover!"

From the section of sixteen year-olds steps a girl whose face is an odd combination of shocked and carefree. She must be a happy person.

She's going to be leaving so much behind.

* * *

**Terry Croft, District Eight Mentor  
**_**1**__**st**_

* * *

I won a long time ago, but I still remember a lot of my Games. Things were different back then. I won by making a lot of friends, not having to kill until the very end. It was the first time I ever hurt a girl, something I was always told was a crime.

But that doesn't matter anymore. Now it's important to try and help other kids like me live. They say lots of victors suffered worse than me. Instead of being upset, I'll make it my mission to help every tribute District Eight has. For the past few years, I've had the help of Pat Mariel, who won a few years back. She's as strong as me, if not stronger. I respect her lots.

"Looking forward to the next few weeks?" Pat asks, leaning over. Without waiting for an answer, she says, "Nah, me neither."

I give a soft chuckle. It's hard not to like Pat. She makes times like these much more enjoyable.

"Thank you, yes, thank you," our escort says graciously. He takes the microphone from Mayor Hawkins and continues, "Well, District Eight. That lovely, lovely time is upon us…time to select our male and female tributes for the fifty-first annual Hunger Games. As per tradition, we draw our female name first, yes?"

The crowd stands silently, praying for their girlfriends, sisters, daughters.

"Taffeta Atkins!"

After a moment's pause, a girl steps out from the fourteens section, a cute childish one with coffee-coloured skin and curly black hair. She looks scared. Typical.

I sound insensitive. Of _course _it's typical.

"Any volunteers for Taffeta?"

Dead silence.

"None?" The escort asks. "Alright then, onto our male."

"The lucky boy is…Joshua Joly!"

Someone steps out from the fifteens. He looks scared to the point of freezing up with fear. Joshua blinks several times and when no one volunteers, I'm sure it takes him all he has to keep his food in his stomach.

Pat says quietly, shaking her head as the two tributes shake hands, "So it begins."

* * *

**Jaden Scott, District Nine Mentor  
**_**16**__**th**_

* * *

I don't really want to go out on to the stage and watch two kids be reaped but the mayor is already making her speech and I'm late. It's not even that I'm still scarred by the Games. I just don't want to have to watch two teenagers die on television, knowing that I couldn't save them. That's crappy.

I try to discreetly open the creaky door of the Justice Building. Fiona Fawcett, the other mentor, gives me an accusing stare as onlookers glance our way. But I can see the softness in her eyes and I know I'm not in trouble.

"And now, I present to you Dionysus Hart, our escort, who has come especially from the Capitol. Do give him a warm welcome!"

There are lukewarm claps from the assembled crowd as Dionysus clears his throat. "Many thanks for having me here today, District Nine," He mumbles into the microphone, "it's a pleasure."

"I'll start with our, er… our female…" Dionysus digs his hand around in the bowl.

"Maia Lorane!"

There's a dramatic shriek in the onlookers section – a parent – as a twelve year-old stumbles out from the front of the crowd. I wince. The girl's crying is obvious.

"Let's see… are there any volunteers for the lovely Miss Maia Loraine?" Dionysus asks, still mumbling.

The crowd is dead silent for a few seconds until a girl with short blonde hair steps out from near the back, raising her hand hesitantly.

"I do."

Dionysus looks shocked – it's his first year at this, but he's learned not to expect outlier volunteers – but he regains his composure quickly. "Wonderful! May I have your name, dear?" He asks with a strained smile.

"Kerria. Kerria Laurus," she replies. The girl is readable and I can see so many emotions on her face; fear, confidence (an odd mix), determination.

"So! Not volunteering for a sister, I see! A cousin?"

"No," the girl says. "She's not a cousin. Or a friend."

"Extraordinary. Let's move on to the boys then, shall we…" Dionysus seems to have gained confidence. Maybe the turn of events will get him noticed, get him promoted in a few years' time. "Our male, representing District Nine in the fifty-first annual Hunger Games is-" he unfolds the paper – "Davis Ashleaf!"

A boy steps out from the fourteens, smiling weakly. When he mounts the stage and no one volunteers, Dionysus says, "Well, you don't have a volunteer – do you think you're a match for Kerria here?"

"Maybe," Davis says good-naturedly, smiling weakly. "You'll – you'll have to wait and see, I guess."

I wish I could go collapse on my bed now. But I have a job to do. And Kerria volunteered; I don't want her dying in vain. Because she has a purpose.

* * *

**Tya Hollingsworth, District Ten Mentor  
33****rd**

* * *

"What's that tune you're singing?"

A voice breaks me from my thoughts and I look up sharply to see Aries, the other District Ten victor, looking at me inquisitively.

"First off, I was humming," I reply curtly. "And secondly, it's bad form for us to be talking while the mayor's speech is going on."

"You think I was going to sit through that whole speech?" Aries asks incredulously. "Fat chance. Besides, it's not our mayor talking, it's our escort."

"Huh," I reply. "What was his name again?"

"The escort is a she-"

"-Not that you could tell with all that make-up anyways-"

"And I don't know. Her name's probably something ridiculous."

"Something Capitol-y."

"Capitalistic."

"Maybe her name's Capitala," I say, snickering, even though my joke doesn't make any sense.

"Are you drunk?"

"Eh."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

The mayor gives us a be-quiet-now look as our escort says, "And now our female tribute…District Ten, I give you Tyene Elwing!"

A girl with a completely blank face walks up to the stage. I search her face for fear, for anything, but she remains completely emotionless. Huh. "Any volunteers for Tyene?"

"Well then! Onto our male," announces the escort, pulling a name out of the second bowl.

"Gabriel Carden!"

There is no movement in the crowd. Gabriel Carden stays completely, utterly still, wherever he is. I guess he's hoping they assume he isn't here and pick someone else.

"Er… Gabriel?" Asks the escort.

Quickly, several kids point out Gabriel to the peacekeepers and a figure walks stiffly up to the stage. His face is blank as well. Irritating.

When no one steps forward to take his place, the tributes are instructed to shake hands, and they do, looking each other straight in the eye.

Two people that are going to die soon, no matter how hard they fight.

I turn to look at Aries.

"I'm going to need a lot of alcohol to get through this trip."

He snickers but then says with dead seriousness, "Me too, Tya. Me too."

* * *

**Barney Hills, District Eleven Mentor  
**_**9th**_

* * *

I hate stereotypes.

Just because I volunteered, I was a 'Career'. Just because of that, I was a killing machine who had probably lived a life of riches, someone who thought myself superior to everyone else.

But everyone is stupid. District Eleven has got to get a reputation as a strong district because _we are strong. _I'm sure of it. I tried to start a training academy like they have over in those Career districts and it got shut down. I received an angry, threatening letter.

_If you continue to commit acts that violate Panem's code of conduct, Mr. Hills, there will be consequences, _the letter said.

But I won't give up. Every time a tribute from eleven volunteers I get a little bit of hope. Someday, the districts will be full of strong fighters and we will be able to overthrow the Capitol. We can go _back _to the peace we had before. It will be perfect.

"Thank you, thank you, um, I'm pleasured to be here, District Twelve- I mean, Eleven." The escort, Terri something-or-other, smiles brightly. "We'll start with our ladies…."

There's dead silence. I survey the crowd, willing someone to volunteer, willing someone to be strong. _I'll protect you if you go into the arena, _I say with my mind. _I'll make sure you have enough sponsors to stay alive. _

"Monique Steel!"

Out from the fifteens section steps a blonde girl, who looks to be in some sort of shock, staggers up to the stage. I purse my lips. Not strong. She's not strong.

Not strong enough.

I curse internally as no one steps forward to volunteer for Monique.

"And now for our male…Timothy Elsea!"

Timothy Elsea is an eighteen year-old who looks frightened beyond belief.

"Any volunteers for Timothy?"

A boy steps out of the crowd from the fourteen year-old area. I gape. The third volunteer in District Eleven history.

He looks scared, like he knows he's done something incredibly stupid as he mounts the stage.

The boy introduces himself as Arlo Cadwell.

_Good on you, Arlo, _I think. _You won't regret volunteering. I'll make sure you win._

* * *

**Haymitch Abernathy, District Twelve Mentor  
**_**50**__**th**_

Screams still echo in my mind. I can still see Maysilee's face, I can remember how distorted it looked after the birds had attacked her-

Actually, I don't remember that so well. I think I've had lots to drink. I feel good, and I haven't felt any sort of 'good' since before the Games, besides those times when I'm drunk out of my mind. So, conclusion, if I feel good, I'm probably drunk, and if I'm drunk it's hard to remember things, which makes me forget about-

_Maysilee Donner. _

I can sort of see what's going on though. I shake my head, and certain things come into focus. The escort, my same one from last year, is giving a hell of a long introductory speech.

She's going on, and on, and on, and on.

When does it ever stop?

"District Twelve- I present to you, our female tribute, Burnet Stevenson!"

Burnet Stevenson… the name doesn't jog anything in my foggy memory.

I can sort see the outline of a small girl walking up to the stage, and I can tell no one volunteers for her because the crowd would be more shocked otherwise.

"And moving onto our males… Copper Schist!"

Copper sounds like a colour. No, a metal. Both, maybe? Schist sounds like a certain curse. I snort loudly.

Well, anyway, he's out of luck for volunteers, too. Well, darn it.

Copper shakes hands with Burnet.

"Thank you all for coming today!" The escort grins. "And may the odds be ever in your favour!"

Well, crap. I'm going to have to keep these kids alive.

Good luck to me.

No, good luck to them. They'll need it lots more.

* * *

_**Favourites from the blog?**_

_**During the Reaping, who stood out to you and why?**_

**A long, long, wait. I know. I'm sorry but I didn't have tributes until now, and ... you can't exactly start the story without the tributes. **

**The reaping is absolutely terrible to write. I'm sorry for the length, but it will probably be similar until tributes start dying. **

**That brings me to my next bit: the more you review, the more chance your tribute has at surviving. If it's entirely unrealistic or the character has a terrible character arc, obviously it doesn't make sense to keep them alive. You signed up knowing this, but I feel kinda obligated to give you a heads-up now. **

**Umm, blog is a . reminiscencehg . blogspot . **

**(I'm listening to The Narrative.)**

**(It just switched to OneRepublic.)**

**Ok bye! Forgive me for the wait!**


	4. Breathing Underwater

Breathing Underwater; Metric

_They were right when they said we were breathing underwater; out of place, all the time, in a world that wasn't mine_

* * *

_**Killian Loran, District One Male  
18**_

"Now, dear… if you could just…yes, move your head over to the side slightly, just like that – thank you…there is, admittedly, quite a bit we have to do to prepare you for the chariot rides. Not your fault, or course – the female from your district, however, she's an entirely different case."

The sound of the lady's voice bothers me. It's too high-pitched and squeaky. Adding to the fact that she has essentially just insulted my looks – something I've never been very unconfident about – I don't particularly want to be on good terms with her. But I know that these sorts of Capitol people can influence Gamemaker decisions in the Arena and I'm not going to risk my life for some bitchy, ignorant woman.

"Yes, she's pretty," I reply vaguely about Blanche, not trusting my sharp tongue to say anything else.

"Oh, you don't know how envious I am of her prep team," the lady gushes, putting tweezers to my eyebrows.

I wince as hair is pulled off my forehead. Who knew a contest for fame and fortune would involve a fashion show? Still, it's important not to say anything. I don't want them mad at me.

"Yes, I know… we're nearly done, dear," the member of my prep team beams.

Once the people finish with my eyebrows I'm ushered into a room, where they then shove me into the most ridiculous clothes I can imagine. I'm donned in a long blue coat, covered in all sorts of precious gems, black jeans and boots, a sparkly top. I can feel the weight of the gel in my hair; when I look into a mirror, I'm barely recognisable. Finally, my stylist – I can't tell whether they're male or female – places a crown on my head. Probably to represent my upcoming victory. The only part of the costume that makes me feel better is that Blanche is going to be dressed the same way. And the fact that the coal district- either Ten or Twelve, I can never remember which – will be dressed in something pathetic.

I can't help thinking about my decision, staring at the unrecognisable person in the mirror. I've left behind friends, family and the old Killian. These Games will change me, but how so? Are the next few weeks going to consist of me being paraded around in ridiculous clothes, with a short break for fighting off the other twenty-three tributes in between? Maybe these Games are just a popularity contest.

I mean, the fame and fortune _is _what I volunteered for. So I don't think I should be complaining.

"Hello? Killian Loran? Are you in there?"

I look up abruptly, jolted out of my thoughts, at my stylist. "What?"

"I _said," _he or she (I think they must be a he) repeats exasperatedly, "Do you like the chariot outfit? I worked very hard to capture the look."

"It's extravagant." I glance at his face, which falls. "But nice," I lie.

"I bet you're very excited for this all." He claps his hands.

"I'm ready, at least."

* * *

_**Mina Silver, District Two Female  
17**_

"Dear," My stylist gushes (playing right to the preppy stylist stereotype), "How do you like your chariot outfit? It fits _exactly _with the theme of the Games this year, so I'm very excited."

The chariot outfit is _weird. _Because it has almost nothing to do with District Two's industry. We're dressed in green camouflage and laden with weapons. I can understand the weapons; weaponry is our not-so-secret industry. But the camouflage? What does she mean, it 'fits with this year's theme'?

"Well… why are we dressed in camouflage? Are you trying to hint something about the Games this year?"

"Oh, now, I can't give away too much, can I?" She asks with a grin, patting my cheek.

I remove her hand from my face quickly. "Yeah, I really wouldn't mind if you gave away details." I don't know what camouflage is hinting at though. I guess it doesn't really matter. I can probably win anyway.

"Don't be cheeky!" She beams, escorting me out into a hallway.

I raise an eyebrow. "…Yeah, I wasn't trying to be cheeky, I was trying to get an advantage. But, you know, if cheeky is your favourite adjective, you can use that-"

"I have a tribute with an attitude this year, don't I?" She asks approvingly. "Mina Silver, I think I have finally met my match?"

"You mean you _hadn't _met your match before now? What kind of people live in the Capitol?" I ask. It probably comes off as rude to her, but it's an honest question. Honestly, she is_ such _a stereotypical Capitolite.

"I-er, let's just go down to the stables, shall we?" She asks, suddenly flustered. "We'll just-uh- go to the elevator."

At the sleek, silver elevator we meet up with Noland, Isis- I'm extremely lucky to have her as a mentor, her Games were spectacular – and Slate, whose eyes have an air of vacancy about them.

I didn't recognise Noland before I met him. I hadn't really seen him around, ever – he is a year older than me, which might explain something – and of course, the Dragons train separately at the academy. I wouldn't get much of a chance to meet new people, I guess. Still, I can't help noticing Noland's attractive face and his awkward demeanor. It's pretty cute, really. I do technically have a boyfriend, but this is the Hunger Games, isn't it? I'm fighting for my life and I'm allowed to flirt while doing it.

"Hey, Noland," I grin.

"Hi," he replies uncomfortably. His body language makes it seem like he wants me to go away.

"Come on, I'm not going to bite you," I frown.

He cracks a smile for what might be the first time. "Yeah, I hope not."

"So? Do you approve of our chariot costumes? Or do you have no freaking clue why they're camouflage green?"

"Second one," Says Noland, picking at his shirt. "They don't really…make a lot of sense."

"Sorry to interrupt your lovely chit-chat," Isis glares, "But we have to talk strategy. You're meeting your fellow Careers for the first time. Mina, I want you to be the leader of the Career pack."

"Done," I say, proud but trying to sound nonchalant. I wouldn't expect someone as shy as Noland to become the leader of an alliance, and Isis clearly thinks highly of me to suggest such a position to me. Slate doesn't seem to care; he still stares vacantly into space.

The elevator doors slide open and we're greeted with the loud, indistinct sound of voices and the smell of horse. I know the City Circle is outside these stable doors; thousands of cheering fans, and many of them waiting to catch a glimpse of Mina Silver, District Two volunteer. The two tributes from Twelve are right by the back doors, looking anxious. Poor District Twelve.

I see the District One tributes up ahead. "Go talk to them," Isis urges, tracing my line of vision. "Both District Four tributes were Reaped this year, chances are that they may not even be part of your alliance. Go to One first, establish your leadership."

I nod and purposefully stride over to the District One chariot. They are both dressed in pretty ridiculous clothing; I can't tell what it is exactly, but they're wearing crowns and are more or less completely covered in reflective jewels. There is, though, no denying the fact that the District One girl, Blanche, I think, is very pretty.

Although both tributes are a year older than I am, I raise my nose in the air in effort to seem superior and introduce myself.

"Pleasure to meet you two. I'm Mina Silver, the leader of our alliance this year."

* * *

_**Zeke Kylar, District Three Male  
13**_

Aspen scares me. It's not as though our whole district knows her, but when her husband got Reaped last year she made a huge scene. In fact, I'm not surprised at all that she's here now. The Capitol can easily rig Reapings if they want to; I'm sure of it.

It's not that part of her story that frightens me, though. It's the vacant look her eyes get, the way she mumbles the same name over and over, how she fully accepts that she's insane.

I'm not one to really feel emotions. It's either curiosity, or nothing, or, in the case of the Reaping, nervousness. But Aspen is strange on so many levels.

"Look, I'm sorry, honey, but that's not going to happen," I hear a voice say from up ahead, and notice four tributes speaking to each other. District One, District Two. I recognise them from the Reaping recaps but it's all too different to see them in person. It's the District One girl who's spoken.

"Excuse me? And why not?" Demands the female from Two. I can see her arching her eyebrows, even from here. "What makes you think you have so much authority here?"

"What makes you think you do?" District One retorts. "You're seventeen, dear. You're not the oldest, nor will you be the most charismatic, er…_attractive _leader out there. The press wants a Career leader that people can look up to an admire." She eyes District Two distastefully. "Unfortunately… I don't know if that's you."

I turn away before the fight breaks out, amused, but trying not to show it. If the Careers are dysfunctional this year, I have a better chance at winning.

"Zeke," A voice makes its way to my ears and I turn around to see Aspen standing in front of me. She's still wearing her veil.

"Hi, Aspen," I reply quietly, not comfortable about the fact that her attention is on me. I subconsciously let my hair fall into my eyes. I like it that way; people can't see my eyes and therefore don't know what I feel.

"We're getting on the chariots now," She says in a far-off voice. "Thought you ought to know."

"Right," I mumble, glancing up at her. We really will be the two odd ones out during the Games. There's her, the insane widow, and me, the avid reader who can't bear to look anyone in the eye. We give each other a few sideways glances and finally, curiosity getting the better of me, I say, "Aspen, do you really see him? Your husband? That's why they call you insane, you know."

"Yes," she responds, sizing me up. "Yes, they call me insane. Yes, I'm the Widow."

Despite myself, I mumble, "The Capitol does like insane people."

Aspen stares at me. I can feel her eyes burning a hole through my skin; for a moment, the vacant stare leaves and anger flashes through her, I can see it. "But the Capitol doesn't like me, Zeke. Not a bit."

* * *

_**Ivory Dagger, District Four Female  
18**_

I cannot help but observe my surroundings in awe. Face upon face screams at Cascade and me, showering us with roses and glory and praise. Although the fame means imminent death I smile despite myself; the crowds, they love me. No crowd has ever loved me before.

A rose gets tossed to me and amidst all the cries of '_Blanche'! _I hear one or two shouts of '_Ivory!' _Cascade seems to be trying not to curl up in a ball and hide; I noted that he is extremely sensitive to the human touch, extremely reluctant to talk to anyone. He looked determined up there on stage, but he was still reaped and so was I. Cascade and I have much more in common than one might perhaps believe. I'm joining the Careers, though, he isn't.

I think I'm starting to wonder if Cascade made the right decision not to join the Career pack. He's strong, and with allies, anyone could best a Career. We have gotten into a fight amongst ourselves already. Mina tried to take over as leader of the pack while Blanche refused. That argument was cut short. But I'm sure it's not over.

I am surprised, though, that anyone tried to take over Blanche's spot. She is so classically beautiful, intimidating and patronising that most would cower frightfully in her presence. Mina is feisty, though. Feisty and strong. And she will try to get back at Blanche for besting her.

Sighing, I try my very best to live in the moment. To appreciate the beauty of the chariot, its fine metal and wood, the bright lights and the colourful crowd. I try in vain to take Cascade's hand – in an act of friendship only – but he flicks my fingers away with a wince. There are continued cries of '_Blanche! Killian!' _ Throughout the audience and the odd _'Ash-a! Max! Am-ber! Kron-ik!' _It's deafening, overwhelming, frightening, exhilarating, and beautiful.

I wonder if those are the emotions going through the mind of a Career when they kill someone. They won't be the emotions going through my mind, anyway.

How can those people, those tributes from One and Two, be so comfortable with taking a life? Humans are unique. They are bursting with creativity. They are bursting with a need to show the world who they really are. And yet, now they are being sentenced to death.

I couldn't ever be a proper Career.

"We salute your courage, tributes, and your sacrifice!" I tune in to hear President Snow's strong words. She beams down at us from a balcony, us little tributes in our fancy chariots. "Let these Games be one to remember. May the best tribute win; may the odds be ever in your favour!"

The odds are not in my favour. The odds are in the favour of Blanche, Mina, Noland, Killian.

But perhaps someone, and underdog, someone who has no favourable odds, will emerge victorious.

I will root for that someone. Even if they are not me.

* * *

_**Oroban 'Orbie' Jones, District Five Male  
12**_

Finally our president, president Snow, is done talking. On command, our well-trained horses turn around promptly and guide us back to the stables. I can't help feeling a little relieved, and I think Asha is the same way. It's scary to face all these people and know that they're betting on your death; they're excited for you, they scream your name, they toss you roses. And then when you're faced with death, they scream your name again. Only this time, it's for a different reason.

I try to keep a positive outlook, though. It's not their fault, per se, that I'm here. It's unfortunate – _really _unfortunate – but they don't know any better. If only they did.

And even though I will my thoughts to stay positive, everything is scary. It doesn't make me any less intimidated.

Even though we're pulling into the stables, Asha is maintaining her feeble waving. The crowd likes her, shy though she is. People have always liked me in the past. Rell, my mentor, he says to get an alliance. I don't have to be the leader – not like I'd _want _to – but maybe if I can get people to protect me, I can survive a little longer. Mum and Dad told me I had to come home, or else I'd be in big trouble. There's a lot more than _getting in trouble _at stake for me; but I appreciate what they were saying and I'm going to try my very best to get home for them, if not for me.

The stable doors close and I can breathe again. Asha looks immensely relieved too. I smile weakly at her and step off the chariot. Though she doesn't say anything, she smiles back and it's genuine. I don't know what goes on in Asha's head exactly, but she seems a little in the clouds. We haven't talked to each other much. Just terse silence, a few lame tries at a conversation. I feel, though, like she could be a good person for me in the Arena.

Rell claps me on the shoulder and guides me away from the chariots. "Good on you, Orbie," He says quietly. "The Capitol loved you."

"Thanks," I smile meekly. "I think I was okay. I mean, it was sort of scary. But it wasn't too bad."

Five feet away, Geoff pulls Asha into a hug. "I knew you could do it!" He exclaims. She looks like she feels smothered, but I don't think she minds.

Rell rolls his eyes. "He's going to do whatever it takes to keep Asha alive," He informs me, and fleetingly, I feel scared. Whatever it takes means letting me die. "Don't worry," he notices my expression. "I'm going to get you out of there."

"Thanks."

We walk to the elevator in silence. The boy from District Nine, his stylist, and his district partner are in the elevator with me. I give him a little nod, one of acknowledgment. He's only two years older than me, and doesn't seem like so much of a threat. In fact, he looks like a nice guy.

"I'm Davis," The District Nine boy says tentatively.

"Orbie," I mumble. "District Five." The elevator dings at the number five – we've now reached my floor – and I step off. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"See you," Replies Davis as the doors close.

Rell grasps my shoulder tightly. "Don't ally with him until you know more."

"He seemed nice."

"Lots of people seem nice. It's what they're really like that matters."

I stare at Rell. He's scarred. So, so scarred.

"I'm sorry," I say. "Sorry you had to go through it. And now you have to watch us go through it."

He smiles at me sadly. "You're smarter than we give you credit for. But feel sorry for yourself only, Orbie. Empathy leads to bravery, which leads to stupidity. Don't feel sorry for anyone else."

* * *

_**Saenna Torry, District Six Female  
15**_

"Well?" Says Nick, my mentor. He's only a little older than me. "How do you think you did?"

I laugh loudly. "I don't know how I did; the audience had their sights set on the Careers, though. The Careers and Max." I can't help smiling at him, though it's a friendly gesture. Not a flirty one.

"No, they didn't," Max mutters softly.

"Come on," Lars intervenes, "Let's go eat dinner."

We're led into a spectacular dining hall. I let out a low whistle upon seeing all the food. In District Six, I made my living working in a bakery. Occasionally, I would sneak under the fence and take food from the woods, picking berries, once even snaring a squirrel. It's not like I'm exactly used to seeing this much food in one room.

"I know," Nick smiles at my awed expression. "It's not every day you see a feast like this. Dig in, both of you. You deserve it."

It's strange to hear such patronising words from someone who's barely a few years older than me, but he did win the Games. I guess he's got the right to go around being superior. But he doesn't.

I fill my plate with all sorts of food. Chicken, fruit, mashed potatoes, breads with sauces. The train was spectacular, but this is extravagant. Max looks impressed to, stoic and quiet though he is.

Over dinner, we talk strategy. "I can use a bow," I inform Nick and Lars. "And I worked in a bakery, so I can, uh, bake things, too. And I know how to work a cash register."

"Well," Nick snorts, "If you end up in a bakery Arena, we'll count on you to win."

"Do you know what the Arena is?" Max asks eagerly, abandoning his treacle tart.

Nick and Lars exchange a glance. "No."

"You're lying."

"What?" Lars looks at me, confused.

"You've got to be lying. I can tell," I say immediately. "You looked at each other weird. Something's happening."

"We have no idea," Nick says defensively. "We only know that the Gamemakers are going to try to make it your worst nightmare."

"If you have allies in the Arena, don't accuse them falsely of lying," warns Lars. "It'll make them upset."

"I guess I'm just desperate for help," I say quietly, feeling stupid.

"Everyone is," says Max.

I can't agree more.

* * *

_**Amber Grover, District Seven Female  
16**_

"Are you sure you don't want any beef, Amber?" My mentor asks tentatively. She knows I haven't touched my food.

"I'm a vegetarian," I mumble softly. "I don't eat beef."

"Well, you've got to eat something," she counters. "You don't want to go into the games on an empty stomach."

I'm going to have to go into the Hunger Games. Right. I've tried to make myself forget about that part of the trip, but it's hard. It's ever-looming in my mind. Even if the fear isn't right there, it's hiding in the back of my mind. I can't force myself to stop thinking about it.

"I'm not going to go into the Games on an empty stomach."

"There's soup," Says Kronik in a helpful, but almost annoyed, tone.

"Look," Elsie says sharply. "I know you're both in low spirits, and you probably don't want to, but we have to talk strategy. Tomorrow you're going into training, and you'll need an aim. Be it survival skills, weaponry, finding an ally, it doesn't matter, but you need something."

"I'm interested in learning something new," I pipe up, knowing Kronik won't want to speak, and trying to go back to my old, happy self. "Maybe whatever gets my attention. I don't want to have allies, though. I don't want to see my friends get hurt later on."

Elsie nods, glad we're getting somewhere. "And you, Kronik?"

"I guess I'll just try to build as much strength as I can. I don't know about an alliance yet. I'd rather see what the other tributes are like. I don't want to make friends only for them to die, either. But I also don't want to be all alone."

Glancing at the digital clock on the wall, Elsie sighs. "Alright. Both of you, don't try and hide your skills. I'm sure neither of you have tons of experience with survival or weaponry. Most tributes don't. I'd much rather you put your full effort into training than use the 'look weak, kill later' strategy. Now, you should just go to bed. I want you both rested for tomorrow."

Kronik and I stand and thank her before leaving to our rooms. Before I open my door, though, he stops me.

"Even if we're not going to be allies, and even if I do get hurt later, on, you do have a friend in the Arena," he tells me. He looks conflicted, as though he's unsure whether it was the right thing to say.

It was the right thing to say. Relief and anguish flood through me and I look up at Kronik, one genuinely nice person who doesn't want to hurt me. My face crumples. "Thanks," I mumble, wrapping my skinny arms around him.

After a moment's pause, he says, "Anytime."

* * *

_**Taffeta Atkins, District Eight Female  
14**_

"Rise and shine, Taffeta," A voice rouses me from sleep and I groan. I don't want to get up today.

"Would you just shut up?" I mumble to the voice before opening my eyes.

I sit bolt upright. I'm not in my bed, and this isn't my mum standing over me. It's my mentor.

Wait, mentor? I could've sworn-

"Sorry, Pat," I say quickly, realising that I told her to shut up and feeling the heat rise on my cheeks. "I forgot that I was, you know – I clear my throat – "Here."

"It's alright, Taffeta," She replies tiredly. "You've got your first day of training today, or had you forgotten?"

"Well yeah, like I said, I forgot I was here entirely," I say defensively, throwing the covers off me. "I'm going to take a shower." When I got here last night, the thing I was most excited about was the shower. It may be stupid, but I'm honestly excited to press all the buttons.

"You've not got time for a shower, don't be daft," Pat snorts. "That's why I came and woke you up."

I pout and get out of bed, stretching. "I suppose I have time to get dressed, at least? And eat breakfast?"

"If you hurry," she replies, leaving. I sigh.

Last night was a blur. The itchy patchwork costume bothered me, and I couldn't help wishing I was anywhere but there, even though I was supposed to smile and wave. Joshua looked uncomfortable too, but at least he put up a façade of happiness for the crowd. There was a reason they weren't chanting my name.

I like Joshua, though he can be a little eccentric at times. He cracks funny jokes though, and he maintains a cheerful attitude most of the time. He's better with people than I am. I mean, I'm okay with people. Mum says I'm too bossy for my own good, but I don't think that really makes me _bad _with people, per se. Everyone can do with a good leader, right?

In the kitchen, Joshua is deep in conversation with his mentor. "So," Terry Croft is saying, "If it does happen that you lean towards weaponry today…"

I tune out their conversation, piling food onto my plate and digging in. If, according to Pat, I don't have much time before I have to go down to training, I shouldn't have taken all this.

"Someone's hungry," Comments Joshua, amused. "You sure you're going to eat all that?"

"Don't underestimate me," I reply through a full mouth."I can eat a lot."

The words come out nearly unintelligible. Joshua only laughs.

"You two had better go down to training," Suggests Terry. "You don't want to be late."

I abandon my unfinished eggs, feeling suddenly nervous. What if I do badly in training? Can't make any allies? What if I don't pick up any skills? "Right," I say, standing up, trying to be brave.

I've got to give it all I've got. I've _got _to be brave. I'll get nowhere if I'm not.

* * *

_**Kerria Laurus, District Nine Female  
18**_

"Just as many of you will die by natural causes as you will at the hands of another tribute. Remember that," our head trainer says before dismissing us.

Well. First order of business, I want to pick up allies. I've always liked people, and I believe that a group is the way to go. The Hunger Games traumatise people, and I think if you go it alone, that makes it all the worse. I want to have people to be able to help when I'm in there. I want people to help me. I have always thought of myself as an extrovert, I couldn't imagine being all alone in the Arena, killing people. Besides, if I have allies, we'll be able to cover more ground.

So far, I've got my eye on the boy from District Four, who was Reaped but didn't want volunteers (I've seen him off to the side by himself. It's strange, knowing he won't be a Career.), and maybe the boy from Eight who seems rather easy-going. I'm not sure yet; the bigger the group, the stronger we'll be… but I don't want to befriend people who aren't trustworthy.

Oh, I've gotten myself into such a mess. I couldn't let that poor thirteen year-old girl die, though; she was so helpless. I guess I broke as soon as I saw her crying on stage. But once I had stuttered out the words 'I – I volunteer', there was no going back.

_Mum, if you were here, you'd think I'm so stupid. _Maybe if I die, I'll end up wherever she is. I heave a sigh.

Suddenly, the back of my neck begins to tingle, as if someone's watching me. I whip my head around quickly to notice the boy from Eight glancing over at me from his fire-starting station. Every time he strikes a match, he hastily squirts hand sanitizer onto his palm, like he's worried about getting sick. Odd.

On impulse, I walk over and crouch down next to him. "Could I have a match?"

"Uh, sure. I'm, uh, Joshua, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Joshua," I smile. "I'm Kerria. I don't have tons of experience lighting fires, although I don't have much experience doing anything."

"Oh," he frowns, "why'd you volunteer, then? I mean, I figured you'd try to get in with the Careers."

I sigh, feeling stupider about volunteering every second. "This little girl got Reaped. I didn't know her, but she was crying and everything, and I just, I don't know, I didn't want her to die, see."

Joshua smiles. "So you're the caring type, then."

"I guess so. I mean, I'll try my best to win. I've not got much going for me, though. I'm…quick? I know a few things about plants."

Shrugging a little uncomfortably, Josh says, "You could show me what you know, then. I mean, I'm resourceful. I won't make us enemies. I'm…agile? I don't know much about survival, though."

"Psh, survival," I joke, and we both laugh a little shakily. "But, uh, does this mean…" I extend a hand cautiously, not sure how he'll react.

"Yeah, sure." With that, we shake. I beam.

"What d'you say we start by finding more allies?"

* * *

_**Gabriel Carden, District Ten Male  
17**_

I hate it here.

The high-tech training obstacles, the done-up people, the need to impress others, it's all so alien to me. I feel out of place here, as any typical District Ten tribute would. I don't really _do _people, and this whole thing is like a popularity contest where the price for losing is death. I don't know where to even start.

I stare at the little sword fighting arena. I'd like to try and use a broadsword; I think I could do well with one, even though I've no experience. Though I don't particularly love people, allies would be nice… I just can't figure out who I'd want in an alliance, or who would want me.

Well, apparently I'm jinxed, because as soon as that thought comes into my head, a boy walks up to me. I recognise him as District Eight, maybe, or District Seven. I look up at him.

"Er, hi," I mutter, frowning.

He sticks a hand out. "I'm Joshua. Josh. From District Eight. You're Gabriel, right?"

"Yeah, that's me. Gabriel, the kid who has no idea what he's doing."

"Oh." Josh frowns, then grins. "Well, here's the thing. I have this ally, Kerria, from District Nine. She and I are figuring out a plan, and we feel like we know what we're-"

"Hold on. Kerria? The one who volunteered like a Career?" I like this pair less and less every second.

"Well, yeah. But no, she volunteered because she felt bad for this one thirteen year-old girl who was Reaped. She's a nice person, really. And, uh, we want more allies, because people are good." He gives a thumbs-up.

"Oh," is all I say at first. "You guys have a plan?"

"Yeah!" Beams Josh. "She's talking to the non-career guy from Four, and we want to have two of us learning weaponry, two of us learning survival at any given time. We could, like, take down the Careers. It'd be great."

I raise an eyebrow. "Do you really want me in your alliance?"

"Well, that's why I'm asking you… you don't seem so keen, to be honest, so I can leave if…"

"No!" I say quickly. "No. Alliance would be fine. Yes. Nice. Thanks."

"Oh." He brightens considerably. "Great! Welcome!"

We shake.

"Ok," I say, "Where do we start?"

* * *

_**Monique Steel, District Eleven Female  
15**_

Today, I eat lunch alone.

I mean, I often do eat lunch alone, but I suppose when I got Reaped I had this great vision of allies.

_Oh, Monique. Don't fret, you have practically a whole week to find allies. _

There's no way I'm teaming up with Arlo; he's mental for volunteering. Then again, Barney, our mentor, adores him and plainly favours him. I don't know how I expect to get help when all Barney does is rave about how brave Arlo is, how District Eleven will become a Career district in no time. The most I've learned is how to chuck a knife, which is rather useful, I suppose, and how to start a fire. At least I can go a while without food, and I know where to find it.

I suppose I'll try to cover every station, like the head trainer suggested. I do suppose I'll have the most chance of survival that way, if I know more.

But for now, I'll just eat my biscuits and gravy and think about how I'm going to die, I guess. What else is there to do?

"A-_hem_."

I whip my head around to find myself staring into the impossibly flawless face of the girl from District One. She stands with her arms crossed, tapping her foot, clearly the leader of the group. The District Two girl looks annoyed with the former, rolling her eyes and biting her nails, while District Four looks around aimlessly, smiling. The two males hang back.

"Er. Uh," I stutter. "Yes?"

District One smiles sweetly. "Try to _ar-tic-u-late _when you speak, dear, stuttering is very unappealing."

"O-oh? Ok?"

District One rolls her eyes impatiently. "I believe the peasant table is over that way, pioneer girl."

"Pardon?" I ask.

"What I'm saying, is move."

I feel more confused by the second.

"Why?"

District One glances around with contempt. "This whole place is filled with outer district loner-tributes. I'm not going to mix with them. So I ask politely that you _move._"

"R-right," I pick up my tray. "Er. Yeah."

"Remember!" She calls patronisingly. "Articulate!"

I sigh. This is going to be a long week if I let people push me around.

* * *

_**Copper Schist, District Twelve Male  
18**_

I can't say I'm unhappy to be back at training. Lunch dragged on and on; I had no one to sit with, which disoriented me a bit. At home, we could build big campfires in the evening and tell each other about our day, joke and laugh, be a happy family. I miss Max – the blue wire he gave me makes my heart sink a bit every time I look at it – and I miss my parents and mum's daycare and when dad would come home after a long day at the coal mines.

But I'm smart, I'm strong, I know I am. I could come out on top. It'd be nice to have an ally but I don't know who would take me. I'm attracted to the thought of allying the little boy from 5 whose name I can't remember; it's in my nature to want to protect kids, always having helped out mum at her daycare. I don't know if he'd want me for an ally.

Well, this morning was survival, now it's time for physical strength. I figure my three days of training will go something like this, and I've no idea what I'll do to impress the Gamemakers in my private sessions. But for now, I head over to the swords station, where a trainer awaits, looking more than ready to fight someone who isn't a Career.

"Ready to learn how to wield a sword?" he asks brightly, taking two blades from the shelf.

"Er, yeah," I say. "But I don't really know anything about swords."

"No matter! See, you want to have a good stance, feet hip width apart like this, and then grip the blade like this, and then-" he demonstrates a series of complicated-looking slashes and blocks. I feel a little overwhelmed, but I ask him to repeat that, and he does happily.

"Ok. I'll give it a go," I mumble.

Though the trainer beats me with ease in about three seconds, I try again and again, feeling giddy with success when it finally takes him a full four minutes to knock the blade out of my hand. By now, a good half-hour has passed, I'm sweating with success, and a girl of about fifteen with dark skin and hair is watching.

"Ah! Another student!" beams the sword-fighting trainer. "Come, come! I'll show you a couple moves, and then you can practice with this nice boy here."

The girl shrugs. "Alright. I didn't think that was allowed, though."

"Nonsense!" he shakes his head. "A little practice is nothing, you aren't fighting, and I'll say it's my fault if anyone gets upset."

After another half-hour of blocking and dodging and slashing and me trying to disarm my fellow tribute, we're both sweating hard. "Excellent, both of you!" exclaims Mr. Trainer. "Come back tomorrow, will you?"

The girl abruptly sticks her hand out. "Taffeta Atkins, fourteen, District Eight. You?"

"Copper," I say, shaking hesitantly. "Eighteen. District Twelve." There's a pause. "Are we, uh… in an alliance now?"

"If you want," she says in a friendly tone. "I figure sword-fighting with someone is a bonding experience. You know, you automatically become friends after that."

"Yeah," I say. "Yeah, I guess so."

* * *

_**Favourite POVs and why?**_

**Much thanks for your patience. The next chapter will be out - I _promise _- within the next two weeks, almost definitely the next week. This chapter focused mainly on alliances. If your tribute wasn't here this time, they will be next round for sure! ****Once again, I'm sorry!  
**


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